


Snow Day, Interrupted

by LadyReisling



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Case Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together, Reading Aloud, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyReisling/pseuds/LadyReisling
Summary: The blizzard of the century has hit New York City, and all Erin wants is to spend her snow day with Holtz. But why is it snowing indoors at the Hotel Pennsylvania? The Ghostbusters are on the case.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina (rinadoll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/gifts).



_**Hotel Pennsylvania, New York City, 8:00 PM** _

It was said that the Hotel Pennsylvania had a history, and everywhere there were traces of past elegance. But the old building was definitely past its prime--dusty carpets, frayed curtains, the permanent smell of mustiness in the air--and there was off-and-on talk of razing and redeveloping it, a long-term battle between those who saw it as a part of New York City history and those who thought it was an eyesore. If you listened to all the local lore, the Hotel Penn was haunted by everyone from Charlie Parker to Mark Twain to a maid who’d fallen into a laundry tub. To Jane Hernandez though, the Hotel Penn was little more than a creepy old building that housed a paycheck.

To be fair, there were worse jobs. She could be drudging in the cafeteria, shelving dusty books in the library, or, God forbid, cleaning toilets. But Jane Hernandez didn’t qualify for NYU’s work-study program, so she was consigned to this: graveyard shifts at the reception desk of this creepy old hotel between her classes in particle physics. _Six more months to graduation_. At least, when the reception desk was quiet (and it usually was, because who checks into a formerly-upscale hotel at three in the morning?) she got some good study time in. As long as she got whatever chores were on the clipboard done before her replacement came in at seven in the morning, and checked in any guests that happened to arrive, no one much cared what Jane did on her shifts.

“You're late,” the crotchety afternoon receptionist snapped as Jane hung up her coat and took her place behind the desk. Jane fought to keep from rolling her eyes. At most, she was two minutes late, but Greta was as old as the Hotel Penn itself and a force to be reckoned with when she decided something wasn't right.

“Sorry, got tied up in lab and missed my bus,” she said. “I'll be early tomorrow, and I'll bring you an almond-raspberry croissant from Mille-Feuille.”

Greta softened noticeably at the possibility of a treat from her favorite bakery. “Make it a raspberry macaron and I won't tell anyone this time. Now, I've got to go or I'll be late for bingo. Make sure you get the chores done.” She stalked off, leaving Jane alone in the dilapidated lobby.

The place echoed loneliness. As Jane waited for the desk computer (it was a relic from the mid-1990s and Greta never used it unless it was absolutely necessary) to boot up, she wondered what the Hotel Penn had been like when it had been a hotbed of New York glitterati, literature, music, and intellectualism, full instead of empty. Not enough to actually go to the library and research the history of the building, or even to Google on one of her endless shifts, but a prick of wonder during the quiet hours of the night. Even when two or three rooms were occupied, it seemed empty. A quick check of the computer system told her that all the guest rooms were empty tonight, with only the ballroom booked for a meeting tomorrow. They might get a few weekend guests who didn’t have the sense to make reservations in a real hotel, the kind with wifi and free breakfast, but not many. Really, she thought again, it was a miracle the old place didn’t just shut down.

The clipboard said she had to go to the dreaded basement and haul up some chairs to the shabby ballroom for that meeting. Best get to it, since she had a quiz to study for and once the chairs were set up, what looked like interminable hours to do it.

Her shoes left prints in the carpet; working the graveyard shift meant that Jane didn’t know any of the housekeeping staff, but she guessed that no matter how many times you vacuumed carpet that was more than half a century old, there was only so much dust and grime you could get out of it. The ancient elevator was out of service, so she headed instead to the basement door. It creaked open and she felt for the light switch. A single, dim bulb slowly flickered to life overhead, and she made her way down the rickety stairs. They creaked ominously under her weight, cobwebs showing in the corners of the stairwell in the flickering light. The smell of age and mildew was stronger here, and Jane swore she could hear the dust shaking free from the ceiling as she made her way down the uneven steps. _Probably this was a workplace hazard. Probably she could report her management to OSHA and spend the rest of her college career with her tuition paid in full by whomever owned this dump._

The light from the bulb in the stairway gave out two steps into the basement proper. Jane fished her phone out of her pocket, used it to find her way over to the cloth-covered chairs, and tried to figure out her best course of action. She needed twenty-four chairs altogether, which meant… a lot of trips up and down that staircase. Far from the fact that particle physics majors weren't known for their muscle tone (especially ones who worked the graveyard shift at falling-down hotels), Jane couldn't imagine the stairs holding out for twenty-four trips. The chairs were heavy, but not _that_ heavy. She could probably take two at a time, or maybe even three. Pulling off the sheet covering the first stack raised a cloud of dust that set her coughing, eyes watering.

Pulling the first two off the stack, she found them far heavier than she’d anticipated. Funny, she’d set up chairs for events before and they had seemed much lighter. It was almost as if someone was already sitting on top of the stack. She managed, huffing and puffing, sweating even in the unheated basement, to drag them up the stairs, but the others were going to have to come up one at a time. Which, combined with setting them up in neat, orderly rows, was going to put a serious dent in her study time. Damn.

The basement seemed to get colder every time she went for more chairs. Jane knew she should be too warm to notice by the fifth trip, but no--she could see her breath in the dim light of the stairwell. It was definitely colder.

 _Storm’s coming in. It’s colder outside, too,_ she told herself. But it felt like someone was watching her. The hair on her arms rose. No. No. She would NOT think of all the crazy ghost movies her roommates were always watching. This was the Hotel Pennsylvania, not the Bates Motel. Sure, it had a history, but that didn’t mean it had ghosts. The cold metal frame of the next chair bit into her skin through her thin hoodie. Chair Number Seven joined its fellows in the ballroom. She thought she caught motion out of the corner of her eye as she headed to the basement again, but surely it was just her eyes playing tricks.

She had to get chairs from another corner of the basement on the sixth trip, and it was even colder over there. The chairs were even dustier, the metal even colder pressing into her front.  As she set the chair down, she noticed that a white streak had joined the dusty ones from the other chairs on the front of her dark sweatshirt. It wasn’t dust, but what looked like leftover confetti from a long-ago party. Strange, because she knew those chairs were rarely used, and she’d been the one to stack them the last time. She couldn’t remember any white confetti on them then. It fell in bits to the carpet as she made her way to the stairs for another trip. Great. Now she’d have to vacuum, too.

The dim stairway light bulb flickered and died as she made her way to the basement again, and Jane hoped she wouldn’t fall over the uneven floor as she made her way back to the corner where the chairs were stored. The temperature outside must be falling fast, because the basement was positively frigid now, and even this far underground she could hear the wind whipping around the corners of the tumbledown building. The luminescent screen of her phone gave her just enough light to make out the next two stacks of chairs, and... _what was that falling from the ceiling? More dust?_ It caught in her hair, trickled wetly down the back of her neck, like an indoor snowstorm. Either Jane Hernandez was going stark raving mad, or _it was snowing in the basement of the Hotel Pennsylvania._ Before she could even think about the sheer impossibility of an indoor snowstorm, a burst of disembodied laughter surrounded her. The light from her phone vanished as it slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor, and the laughter continued, snow dripping icily down her back now.

Chairs forgotten, without a thought to how she was going to keep her job, Jane turned and fled from the hotel, the laughter following her up the stairs and into the lobby. She could still hear it as she left the hotel, out into the swirling wind and snow, toward her safe, un-haunted dorm room.


	2. Business As Usual

_**Ghostbusters HQ, Four Hours Earlier** _

Late-afternoon sunlight filtered into the windows of the Ghostbusters’ office/lab and it was business as usual. Abby and Holtz were conferring over the pH balance of ectoplasm from Class III and Class IV apparitions; Erin was mapping out their last several busts on a city map, looking for patterns. Patty sat in the booth with her feet propped on the table, reading a book about early twentieth-century architecture in the city. Snuggled into her faded MIT sweatshirt with a pair of jeans and tennis shoes against the dropping temperature outside, Erin reflected that this team--no, this family--was everything she had ever wanted. Several months since coming together with the other three women, with Kevin hovering at the fringes, she didn’t know how she had ever thought that a tenured professorship was the life she had wanted for herself.

Her eyes lingered for just a moment on Holtzmann, bent over her test tubes. The sunlight played in her spiky hair, her mouth quirked up at the corner like she was just on the verge of some great discovery and her brow was furrowed in concentration. She was so beautiful in that crazy, messy way, it made Erin feel warm even from across the room.

“Hey Erin? Erin! Earth to Erin!!” Patty called, rousing Erin from her reverie. She sounded annoyed. Clearly, she’d been trying to get Erin’s attention for awhile now.

“Sorry, what?” she answered, a little guiltily. She stole another look at Holtzmann to make sure she hadn’t been caught looking, but Holtzmann was still absorbed in her work, thankfully.

“Turn up the TV, will you, space cadet? I want to hear the weather forecast.”

It took Erin a moment to locate the remote and for one agonizing second she was terrified it had ended up in the fish tank again, but eventually she found it and hit the volume button.

 _“...A storm is coming in, New Yorkers! Manhattan can expect falling temperatures and gale-force winds starting tonight and lasting through early evening tomorrow, with snowfall totals of 18 inches in some parts of the state…”_ the Channel Four Weather Wizard was saying.

Behind her, Erin heard Patty scoff. “Scare tactics. We’ll get a dusting, if that. Look how warm it was this morning. The weathermen always get it wrong.”

“You think?” Erin asked.

“Yeah, there’s no way any storm we get today could be a match for the Great White Hurricane of 1888.”

“Great White what now?”

“Oooh, yeah, that was a rough winter,” Patty said. “I just read a book about that. Nobody was prepared. We’re much better off now, and what with climate change, a big storm like that just doesn’t really happen anymore. Most likely, it’s a slow news day and the actual storm won’t come close to the hype.”

“1888 blizzard, yeah, that was basically a superstorm wrapped up in sketchy science and human error,” Holtzmann added, not really looking up from her test tubes. God, but Erin loved it when she did that--surfacing for a microsecond before going back to her science. If that wasn’t sexy, she didn’t really know what was.

“People died in that storm, though,” Erin pointed out. “Shouldn’t we have respect for the dead? I mean, usually, if we don’t have respect for the dead, don’t the restless dead get mad and try to take over the world?”

“To be fair,” Kevin spoke up, reaching through his glasses to rub his eyes, “You lot only tend to go after the ones who are trying to take over the world.”

“Whatever,” Patty replied. “All I mean is, maybe we were better off before all this weather-predicting technology. Chances are, we’ll get a dusting tonight, and life goes on tomorrow. Or the power goes out, the schools close, and people go sledding in Central Park like in the good old days.”

Erin felt an involuntary shiver run up her spine. While she wasn’t afraid of a snowstorm per se, she definitely didn’t like power outages. She didn’t sleep well at the best of times, and lying alone in her bed in the dark and the cold reminded her too much of the creepy neighbor’s ghost of her childhood. A night without power was invariably a night of fitful, cold, nightmare-filled sleep. “Let’s just be thankful for the sun right now,” she suggested.

Abby nodded agreement as the news switched over to yet another story about the giraffe that was due to give birth at some zoo or other ( _any day now_ , the reporter insisted). “God, are they still talking about that?”

“The sad part of that is, millions of Americans are wasting their lives in front of a live feed right now,” Holtzmann said in a bored voice. “Turn it off, please, Erin. This mess--” she gestured to a beaker that was filling with purplish smoke--”is about to go critical and I can’t concentrate while the news talks about snow and giraffes.”

Erin obliged, turning back to her maps. But then a thought struck her. “How many people died in the 1888 blizzard?”

“At least four hundred in the city,” Patty told her. “More up and down the East Coast. It was a hot mess, that storm.”

“Cold mess,” Kevin pointed out. “You can’t have a hot mess in a blizzard.”

Erin suppressed a chuckle and saw Patty discreetly roll her eyes. Kevin’s penchant for stating the obvious was just too cute sometimes. In fact, it was probably half the reason they even kept him around--that, and how many people were really willing to work for a paranormal investigative science firm? “Cold mess, then. But lots of them are bound to be restless, right? They basically died because the National Weather Service--what there was of it back then--took the day off, and then the people would have lost their jobs if they hadn’t gone out in the snow. Think we’ll see an uptick in business if we get a blizzard?”

“I _think_ ,” Holtzmann barked, “That we’ll have a hot mess of our own if you guys don’t shut up and let me concentrate!”

“Oooh, sorry Holtz. Shutting up now.”

“Thank you. Twenty minutes, and this should be stable. Or, you know, we’ll all be blown to bits. Assuming we survive, does anyone else want to order Chinese?”

Erin couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

Later that night, when Holtz’s experiment had proven successful and the Ghostbusters packed up shop for the day, Erin walked toward home tucked warmly into her hoodie and jacket with a belly full of lo mein and wontons.  It was freezing and a light snow was beginning to fall, sparkling like diamonds in the streetlights. She hardly noticed the cold or the snow, because she couldn’t get the sound of Holtz’s laughter out of her head. Which was becoming a pretty common occurrence.


	3. Late-Night Texts, and Other Surprises

After working all day and then gorging herself on Chinese takeout with her friends, the walk home in the snow made Erin want nothing more than to curl up in her cozy bed. She made herself do a few chores to keep her apartment tidy, but not many. There had been a lot of busts in the last few weeks, and Erin and the team had been putting in extra hours, so it wasn’t like she’d been around to really get the place dirty. After washing the morning’s cereal bowl and coffee cup, straightening a few pillows in the living room, and sorting through a week’s worth of junk mail that had ended up on the hall table, she settled down with a book and a soothing cup of tea. 

The book was one Abby had recommended, some dime store paranormal romance written by someone who’d clearly never experienced a true haunting and thus romanticized absolutely everything. Erin wasn’t sure why Abby was so intrigued with it, but she had recommended it to all the others, and Erin had seen Holtz sneaking in a few pages in the office the other day. If nothing else, reading it would endear her further to Abby and maybe give her a ready-made conversation with Holtz at some point. Erin could just imagine Holtz going all  _ Mystery Science Theater 3000  _ on the saccharine writing and totally unrealistic signs of paranormal activity. She was sure they’d have hysterics about it sometime. 

After half an hour’s reading, she rolled over and switched off the light, eyes feeling heavy, lulled by the soft mattress under her and the month’s worth of carbs she’d eaten earlier. But the moment the room plunged into darkness, she felt wide awake again. Outside, the wind was picking up, howling at her drafty bedroom window. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the curtains moving in the draft. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of the banter in the office that day, and wondering if the coming storm would bring an upswing in paranormal activity. It stood to reason that there were at least two hundred restless spirits who had died in the streets of New York back in 1888, perhaps on a night much like this one. A shiver ran up spine as she thanked whatever higher power existed for her warm, safe apartment. But the coming storm had provided good banter in the office that afternoon, and as she remembered the way that Holtzmann had kicked in her two cents without ever fully leaving her experiment, she got another shiver that had nothing to do with fear or cold. 

Restless, Erin punched her pillow. It was ridiculous to have these thoughts about Holtzmann. Holtzmann, as far as Erin knew, wasn’t attracted to anyone. Or possibly she’d had a thing with Abby while Erin had been off trying to find her way into academia. That thing might or might not still be in effect. And anyway, wasn’t it always a bad idea to date your coworkers? What if Erin asked Holtz out, and Holtz said no? Or worse, what if she said yes? Would it make everything totally awkward? Erin had given up too much--her entire academic career, which she didn’t exactly regret--for this team to have it all go sour because of an ill-advised interoffice relationship. Besides, Holtzmann was a good buddy, and Erin wouldn’t risk that for anything. 

As quickly as she’d felt exhausted, her thoughts were now spinning too fast for sleep. She briefly considered turning on the light again, but it seemed like too much work. Instead, she felt for the TV remote beside the bed and flipped through the channels, pausing to watch the red blob of the Storm of the Century (according to the Channel Four Weather Wizard) slowly eat away at New York City, then cruised the late-night shows, turning the volume down low. Just as the drone of voices started to lull her back to sleep, her phone buzzed on the bedside table. 

JH:  _ Erin?? _

Was Holtzmann drunk? Had she inhaled too many fumes in the lab? That hydroxybenzoic acid had looked suspicious to Erin. Why else would she be texting at two in the morning? Another buzz. 

JH:  _ Erin, you awake? _

EG:  _ Yeah, couldn’t sleep. What’s wrong? _

JH:  _ You have power? _

EG:  _ Yep. I take it you don’t.  _

JH:  _ It went out right after I got home. No light. No heat. Colder than a Class VII apparition in Antarctica. _

EG:  _ So you decided to wake me up? _

JH:  _ You were awake anyway. Can I come over? _

EG:  _ What, now? It’s 2 AM, genius. _

JH:  _ And I’m freezing, Einstein.  _

EG:  _ Sure. I’ve got extra blankets. _

JH:  _ Be there in 15. _

EG:  _ Careful out there. Looks bad.  _

It took a full minute after Erin set her phone down for the implications to sink in. It was two in the morning, there was a full-scale blizzard raging outside, and Jillian Holtzmann was on her way to Erin’s to spend the night. 

This was either the best night ever, or a huge mistake. 


	4. An Unexpected Slumber Party

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Erin buzzed Holtz up to her apartment. The other woman looked to be freezing, spiky hair wilder than usual and sparkling with melting snow in the hallway light, cheeks flushed with cold, and clad in plaid flannel pajama pants and piles of winter gear. She pulled off her winter coat, gloves, and hoodie, revealing an ancient graphic tee starring Bunsen and Beaker from _The Muppet Show_.

Erin grinned. “Nice PJ’s.”

Holtz’s smile dazzled her in return. “Thanks. The shirt was a gag gift from my mentor.”

“Come on in. You need anything? Hot chocolate? Tea? Hot shower?”

“Nah, just a pillow and I’ll crash on your couch.”

“No, you can’t…” Erin cut herself off. _What was she thinking?_

“Can’t what? You said I could come crash here.”

“No, I mean, yeah, of course, you’re welcome, but...it’s...you’ll…” She cleared her throat. _Quit babbling, Gilbert. You sound like a freshman trying to defend a doctoral dissertation._ Holtzmann looked at her expectantly.

“It’s freezing in the living room, and you just walked ten blocks in a blizzard. You’ll be much warmer if we just share my bed.”

“Erin Gilbert, are you propositioning me?”

“What? No, no, of course I’m not. I’m just thinking--I’ve had my couch since undergrad. I keep meaning to replace it, but just never have time, you know? And It’s a king-size bed, you’ll be much more comfortable if we just share. We have to get up for work in, what, four hours anyway?” _God, why could she not stop babbling?_

Holtzmann shrugged, a hint of that earlier dazzling smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Why not? It’s been years since I’ve been to a slumber party. Lead the way.”

As they entered the room, Erin took a second to be thankful that she’d cleaned up after herself tonight and not left her bra or anything else embarrassing out for Holtz to see. They climbed under the covers and Erin switched off the light.

“You don’t snore, do you?” Holtzmann asked teasingly.

“Dunno. Never stayed awake to hear myself,” Erin joked back.

“Never had a lover complain either?”

Erin opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond. It had been ages since she’d been on a date, let alone shared her bed. She covered the silence with a yawn.

“There’s a story in that silence, I can tell. But it’s late, and I did wake you up and invite myself over. Anyway, it’s okay if you snore. Last person I was with said I kicked like a mule.”

Erin chuckled. “Just so you know, if you put your cold feet on me, you’re never sleeping over again.”

“No guarantees. I did just walk ten blocks in a blizzard. But I’ll do my best. ‘Night, Erin, and thanks for letting me come.”

“You’re welcome, Holtzmann. Sleep tight.”

Within seconds, Holtzmann was snoring, curled on her side. Erin resisted the urge to spoon up next to her--it looked like they’d fit perfectly together. And she was certain she’d never actually go to sleep. Not to put too fine a point on it, but _Jillian Holtzmann was asleep in her bed._

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, she was snuggled so close to Holtzmann that she could feel the other woman’s heart beating under her cheek. She made to scramble away, but Holtz wrapped her arms around her and held on tight.

“Don’t. You’re warm.”

“W...what time is it?”

“A little after eight. It’s still snowing like crazy. Abby texted a bit ago and suggested we all take a snow day, so I let you sleep.”

“Thanks. You want some coffee or something?”

“No, seriously. Don’t get up. The heat quit an hour ago. You’ll just freeze.”

“What should we do, then?”

“Well...I saw your collection of movies. But that would involve getting up and freezing. I see we’re reading the same godawful paranormal romance book for Abby’s would-be book club. How far are you?”

“Um...I fell asleep right after Mr. Richardson’s ghost made noises in the chimney and Rosie’s mother started talking to her long-lost, dead lover?”

“Great. You’re just a couple pages behind me. I was going to just keep moving my bookmark so Abby would think I was reading it, but...we’re here, your copy’s in reach, and we stand a good chance of finishing the dumpster fire before the snow stops.”

“What do you think Abby sees in this book? It’s terrible!”

“Not sure, but at least it’s a laugh. I mean, bad romantic writing aside, no spirit alone could actually cause every piece of glass in a house that size to break simultaneously. The shockwave of their energy would have to be strong enough to level a city, and then it’s just an earthquake. You measure that on the Richter scale, not an EMF reader.”

“Right? And the stages of manifestation are all wrong. Anyway.” Erin grabbed the book off her nightstand and began to read aloud. _“As my trusted companion began to brush my hair the required one hundred strokes, a phantasm formed in the mirror over her shoulder…”_

Three hours later, they closed the book amid hoots of laughter at the sappy ending. They’d taken turns reading, and Holtz, as it turned out, had a knack for doing voices. Without really realizing it, they’d snuggled together against the cold so that Erin’s head rested on Holtz’s chest and Holtz’s hand trailed listlessly through her hair. The graphic tee was incredibly soft under Erin’s cheek and smelled like a strange combination of lab smoke and laundry soap--a combination that was uniquely Holtzmann, more appealing than any perfume. Given a choice, Erin was pretty sure she’d never move again. Maybe she should feel awkward about that, but Holtzmann didn’t seem too interested in moving, either.

She might have drifted off to sleep like that, it was so calm, but just as her eyes slipped closed, a tinny song began to play from Holtz’s side of the bed. “Really? Your ringtone is _Come to the Fun Home_? I had you pegged for a metal girl.”

“I contain hidden depths. It’s Abby--we saw that show when we were sharing a crappy apartment above a funeral home. She changed it as a joke.” She swiped the phone to life.

“Hey, Abby, what’s up? ...Yeah, just enjoying the snow day. What? Are you kidding??” There was a long pause. “All right. I’ll meet you there. No, don’t call Erin. She’s...I’ll...grab her on my way in.” Another pause. “Okay. Okay. Be careful out there. I will. See you in a bit.” She hung up with a sigh, muttering darkly under her breath.

“What was that all about?”

“Not that this hasn’t been the best slumber party ever, but we need to get up. Abby says we’ve got a case.”

“We’ve got a case now? It’s snowing like gangbusters! Nothing’s even open today.”

“Abby says a college student called the emergency line a little while ago. The girl’s a bit hysterical, but check this: It’s snowing _inside_ the Hotel Pennsylvania.”


	5. On the Case

Forty-Second Street was eerily deserted as Erin and Holtzmann walked along, dressed in layers of winter gear with scarves pulled up to protect their faces. The wind was blowing directly in their scarf-covered faces, so progress was slow. In spite of her winter boots, Erin kept slipping on the icy pavement, and Holtz holding her steady just felt natural.

There were no taxis or other cars in the street, and a few people were skipping the sidewalks, walking in the middle of the street itself. It seemed like all of New York was hunkered down against the storm, and though it was technically still daylight, darkness was already falling. Lighted signs shone weirdly in the half-light.

“I have lived in New York my whole life,” Holtzmann said in a hushed tone, bordering on awe, “and I have never seen anything like this.”

“Me neither,” Erin agreed.

What was normally a fifteen-minute walk from Erin’s apartment to the office took over an hour with the wind buffeting them and the snow in their faces. Erin had never been so grateful to get inside. Upstairs, Abby and Patty sat across from a girl who looked to be in her early twenties.

“Glad you finally made it, ladies,” Abby said. “This is Jane Hernandez, particle physics major at NYU, night receptionist at the Hotel Pennsylvania. Jane, this is Erin Gilbert, and the blonde is Jillian Holtzmann, our resident mad scientist.”

"Technically I'm a nuclear engineer," Holtz stated mildly at the look of horror on the client's face.

“I’m sorry to get you out on a day like today, ladies,” the young woman said softly. “But...I need this job, and I can’t go back there after last night. Something really weird is going on at the hotel.” She paused, looking stricken.

“It’s all right,” Patty soothed. “We’re here to help. Just tell us what happened. Abby said something about it snowing inside the hotel?”

Jane took a deep breath. “Last night, I went to work before the storm started. I work the overnight shifts, and the ballroom was rented out for a meeting today, so I had to get chairs out of the basement. Those chairs hardly ever get used, so there was dust everywhere, and something that looked like confetti got on my shirt. And then I realized it was falling from the ceiling and melting like snow. My hair got wet.”

The Ghostbusters traded a glance. Confetti could be explained away, but melting confetti was something different entirely.

“Was there anything else?” Erin asked. “Anything at all? Cold spots? Did you see anything other than confetti?”

“I didn’t see anything, but the chairs were so heavy, heavier than they normally are, I mean. It was like...like someone was sitting on them. Every time I went to the basement, it got colder. And I saw movement, out of the corner of my eye. But that can’t really be, because I was alone. There weren’t any guests in the building last night. It was just me. This all sounds so crazy.”

“Not crazy at all,” Patty said. “We deal with this kind of thing all the time.”

“Sounds like early-stage manifestation to me,” Holtzmann added. “Was there anything else, Jane? Anything at all? You have to tell us everything, no matter how crazy it sounds, so we know what we’re dealing with.”

“One more thing,” the young woman said. “Just before I bolted like a coward, I heard laughter. Like, a big group of people laughing. In the basement by the chairs.”

“Definitely manifestation,” Holtz said, as the others nodded in agreement. “If the indoor snow is related--and I don’t see how it could happen otherwise--what you stumbled into is a hotbed of paranormal.”

“In other words, you’re not crazy, kid,” Patty grinned at the young woman, who smiled tentatively in return.

“All right,” Erin said. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Holtz, Abby, equipment check. Patty, get online and find out everything there is to know about the Hotel Penn. I’m going to research spirit manifestation, weather patterns, and indoor snow.”

“What should I do?” Jane asked.

“I like you, Jane Hernandez,” Abby replied. “We don’t get a lot of emergency calls. You wouldn’t believe how many people still think there’s no such thing as ghosts. You can watch Holtzmann and me. Just..don’t touch anything unless we tell you to, okay? Besides, we need you to stick around. You’re our ticket into the Hotel Penn. These ghosts are going down.”


	6. Investigation

For the next two hours, there was no banter in the office. Everyone was in crisis mode. Erin spread her books around her at one of the booths, along with several maps. Patty alternated between books and and the internet, cross-checking sources. At one point, she called Jane over and the two of them conferred in hushed voices. Holtzmann and Abby checked equipment, made repairs, and thankfully, didn’t blow anything up. Finally, the five of them reconvened at the conference table.

Patty spoke first. “Okay, so, Hotel Pennsylvania? I don’t know how we haven’t gotten a call there yet, unless the owners are completely oblivious. You name it, that place is supposed to be haunted by it. When it opened in 1919, it was the biggest hotel in the world. 2200 rooms, 2200 baths. Unheard-of luxury. These things called “servidores” in every room. Those are basically boxes on the doors that are like two-way mail slots. Guests could leave their clothes in them at night, the staff would come collect them and deliver them laundered back into the servidor. Or they could have ice or room service food delivered the same way. The hotel provided a newspaper through those every morning. State of the art, back in 1919.

“Back in the day, everyone who was anyone stayed there. It was where people went for entertainment, like, all the time. Charlie Parker played there. Glenn Miller. Dorothy Parker stayed there. Mark Twain lived there for awhile. And you know that old song, _Pennsylvania 6-5000_? That’s the place’s phone number. Back then, the first two numbers of a phone number was a code for a location--in this case, the Pennsylvania district, where Penn Station and the Hotel Pennsylvania were. It’s the longest continuously-used landline in the United States.”

“The servidores are still there,” Jane said, “But not used anymore, obviously. I didn’t know that’s what they were for. It’s basically falling down now. There haven’t been more than a handful of guests for months.”

“All of this is starting to make perfect sense,” Erin spoke up when Patty was finished. “I had a hunch about the storm we were talking about yesterday, so I looked for any and all information about that. It was actually a freak collision of two storms that didn’t follow the normal patterns. It was slow-moving, so the worst of it sat over New York City for almost forty-eight hours, and then it circled back instead of moving on. It was a hot mess. Horses got picked up by the wind and blown into electrical wires. People died in droves. Froze to death in their homes, or burned all their belongings to stay warm. Literally walked across the frozen river to Brooklyn to get to work. Rode ice floes down the Hudson when the storm was over. The Blizzard of 1888 is the reason we have a subway now--because the snow back then made it so hard and dangerous for people to get around.”

“Sorry, Erin, that’s all super interesting, but what does this have to do with the haunting at the Penn?” Holtz asked.

“I was getting there. So after the blizzard, they started a survivors’ club. The Blizzard Men and Ladies of 1888. They met every year to remember the storm and tell stories about it and talk about how wimpy we got in modern times. The ballroom of the Hotel Penn was their meeting place of choice. And one year, they had entertainment in the form of _a mechanical snowstorm_.”

“Oh. My. God. You were absolutely right, Erin, about the storm bringing out the ghosts--but the ghosts of the survivors, not the victims. This...this is unprecedented.” Abby was breathless with excitement.

“I wasn’t crazy. The place is haunted. It’s really, really haunted. And it really was snowing inside,” Jane said, relief evident on her face.

“Okay, so now...we just need a plan,” Patty checked her watch. “It’s 6:30 PM right now. Jane, what’s the situation inside the hotel at this hour?”

“Probably deserted right now. I don’t know if Greta made it in for the day, but assuming I still have a job there, I’m due to start my shift at eight.”

“Oh, this is just too easy. Sugar pie, it’s take-the-Ghostbusters-to-work day for you.”

“It’s a little far to walk, especially in this weather.”  
“Oh, don’t worry, we got you covered.” Patty jingled the keys and led the way to the hearse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All facts stated in this chapter are true, both about the Hotel Pennsylvania and the Blizzard of 1888. Mental Floss has an excellent article about the Blizzard Men and Women, who really did have a party with a mechanical snowstorm one year. I read several awesome books and articles about the blizzard, which was a hot mess (or, as Kevin would say, a cold mess) for a lot of reasons. 
> 
> If you're into that sort of thing, go check out the Hotel Pennsylvania's website, which has awesome articles on the history of the building, including scans of primary-source articles about the opening from the New York Times.
> 
> In short, I really geeked out hard while I was writing this chapter.


	7. Bust

Patty wasn’t a fabulous driver at the best of times, and there were several moments on the snow-covered ride when Erin found herself clinging to Holtzmann’s hand, legitimately afraid for her life. When they arrived at the Hotel Pennsylvania, Patty pulled up to the curb, allowing Jane to climb out. 

“When the coast is clear, text the same number you called earlier,” Erin instructed her.

“Got it. Should just be a few minutes. I told Greta yesterday that I’d be early today, so she shouldn’t suspect anything--though she’ll probably yell at me about the chairs.”

Patty couldn’t help rhapsodizing about the hotel as they waited. “The architecture of the first four floors matches the outside of the original Penn Station, but that was knocked down years ago. It’s a marvel, and I read that they left some things intact inside over the years.”

Beside Erin, Abby rolled her eyes. “When this is all over, we’ll make sure you get the full tour, Patty.”

“Hey, I’m just telling you the history so you don’t get bored.”

Before the two could start squabbling, the emergency phone pinged with a text:  _ Coast is clear.  _ “C’mon, y’all. It’s showtime.”

Jane met them at the door and led the way to the basement entrance. “No elevator, sorry.”

“Okay, Jane. We need you to show us exactly where you saw the snow last night,” Erin instructed, pulling out an EMF reader. “And then run and leave us to our work. No civilian casualties allowed.”

But they didn’t need a tour guide. The moment they pulled open the basement door, a gust of cold wind hit them in the face. The stairs threatened to give way under the collected weight of four women and their equipment, and one corner of the basement was covered in a six-inch coat of snow falling from the ceiling. 

“I’ll be damned,” Holtzmann said, pointing. “That’s a primitive snow machine. The hotel kept it for all these years. The survivors are probably tied to it. Their energy is helping power it and vice versa.”

As if on cue, dozens of Class IV semi-anchored entities materialized, laughing ominously. The team readied their proton-throwers. The spirits, sensing their end, rebelled, and in moments, snow and spirits and ectoplasm were flying, Erin heard screams, but she was too busy trying to keep the four entities that had targeted her at bay to see where it was coming from. The Ghostbusters were outnumbered and losing ground fast.

“Keep them back, ladies!” Holtzmann yelled above the din. “I’m going to try to take out the snow machine. The electricity that’s powering it is making the spirits stronger.”

“Just unplug it, then!” Patty shouted.

“Nothing’s ever that simple!”

Three of Erin’s four entities dissolved in puddles of ectoplasm, but the fourth was stubborn, keeping her engaged. Behind it, Erin could see Holtzmann working feverishly on the snow machine. Then the spirit changed course and headed straight for Holtz. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Erin growled, leveling her proton pistol at the apparition. She loosed a blast at it, dissolving it into a puddle of goo just as Holtzmann finished dismantling the snow machine, finishing it off with a shot from her laser gun. 

“That was close! Nice going, Gilbert!” Holtzmann crowed triumphantly, and leaped from her work to join the fray. 


	8. Case Closed, Eyes Opened

Without the power of the machine, the rest of the spirits quickly lost energy, vanquished by the four Ghostbusters working in tandem. When all of the phantoms were gone, the women leaned against the wall, panting and covered in ectoplasm.

“That,” Abby gasped, “Was the most eventful snow day ever.”

They emerged in the lobby on the stroke of midnight, reassured Jane that she wouldn’t have to worry about ghosts any longer, and piled into the hearse for the ride back to the office. Patty drove, and once again, Erin feared for her life. Abby, unconcerned, dozed in the passenger’s seat, and beside Erin, Holtzmann was texting madly.

“You make a habit of midnight texting, Holtz?” Erin asked.

“Not really. Just my neighbor--still no power at my place.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, trooped up to the office to shed their coveralls and stow their gear. Normally, after a bust, they’d clean everything, but it was late, and Patty declared that all that could wait until they’d all gotten some sleep. She left, waving over her shoulder, and Abby followed suit, leaving Holtz and Erin alone.

“Not going home?” Erin asked as Holtz settled onto a lab stool, surveying her equipment.

“No power at my place. Might as well work.”

“Probably still no heat at mine, but...you can come sleep over again. That is, if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’m covered in slime. You don’t want me in your bed tonight. Or even on your antique couch.”

_But she did_ , Erin realized. She wanted Holtzmann in her bed. On her antique couch. Sharing her coffee and laughing over terrible books and being a crazy, beautiful, mad scientist. And maybe it was late and she was too tired to deny it. Maybe it was the snow or the high from the bust or some unknown quantity she’d yet to discover about herself, but on this night, Erin was willing to go for broke.

“I have a shower, Jillian.”

“‘Zat so?” Holtz asked, a glimmer of fun in her eyes.

“And I’ll let you use it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you share it with me.”

Holtzmann’s jaw dropped open, and then her face split into a wide, mad grin. “Then I have one condition for you, too,” she said, getting up from her stool to bridge the distance between them in two lanky strides.

“Oh do you?”

“That you let me kiss you senseless first. Right here. Right now. I’ve waited for so long, Erin. Don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

And that, Erin reflected, was a condition she was more than willing to grant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rinadoll, your prompts were all amazing. I could have written any one of them, and possibly no one is more surprised than me that this is the one I chose to run with. This story is the most insane, stressful, coffee-soaked ride I've ever taken, and I really hope that you like it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments make me so far beyond happy!


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